A&C Occult Investigations

This is a work in progress.

“It's fucking hot in here, man.”

Richard leans back in the chair, sweat dripping down his body in a cool torrent. Somewhere outside, someone practices their road rage by endlessly beeping a car horn.

“How do you stay cool in those suits of yours?”

The other man, his face full of what can only be described as sarcasm, looks up from a laptop and mumbles something. He looks even worse off than Richard – his gray suit is stained with sweat, and his reddened visage suggests he's a bad step away from heat stroke.

“What was that?”

“I said, 'very carefully'.”

“Ahhh, gotcha.”

“Maybe if you actually got up and did your job, we could have the AC turned back on.”

“Mebbe.” Richard idly throws a paper airplane. It glides a couple of feet before nosediving.

There's a pregnant silence as the man with the laptop, considers Richard. He opens his mouth to say something, interrupted by the sound of a cellphone's rendition of “Fur Elise”.

“'S that yours?”

“No shit.”

“Right. I think mine plays 'Wild Thing.'”

The suited man sighs and answers the phone. “Yes?”

Richard stares at the ceiling, not bothering watching his partner's face run the gamut of emotions from irritation to excitement. “Yes, yes. Thank you very much, ma'am.”

“Job?”

“You could say that.”

“Pay?”

Jake – the man in the suit – quotes a figure consisting of four digits.

Richard somehow manages to whistle and sound both impressed and bored while doing so.

“Yes. We're going now.”

“Alright. Where are we driving?”

“Burbank.”

Richard groans.

“Stop complaining and get in that little shit you call a car.”

“Hey, don't talk shit about the Beetle. Volkswagen makes fine cars.”

“Mmhm. Get up and drive.”


They stop outside a very old looking house – something that looks patently as if it should not be standing. Victorian, overgrown, and overblown.

“What are we doing, here?” Richard removes the car key from the ignition, the powder blue Volkswagen dying with what sounds almost like a whine.

“Standard haunting. Guess some real estate company wants the place knocked down, before a motion to get the house passed off as a state landmark passes. His demo guys don't want anything to do with it, saying they're not going in the house after the last guy got mangled.”

“So, what…ghost, ghoul, vampire, locked-in-god, my grandmother…”

“Uh…” He flips a page on a clipboard. “Ghost. Kid that died here awhile ago.”

“Kids. Dang. This one is gonna leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Wouldn't be the first time we put a kid out of the business.”

“…I try not to think about the cat girl. That was just fucked up, man.”

“Yeah, I know. Need a cigarette?”

“Hand it over.”

A stick of cancer is exchanged, and then set alight by Richard's silver lighter. He sighs expectantly.

“Well, let's do this.”

“Yeah.”


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